She smiled suddenly and pushed herself up. “But that’s not important. Let me explain why I’ve come. I wanted to apologize!”
She said this as if she were talking about a Christmas present she’d made with her own hands. Lately, more and more often, more and more people were reminding me of the Great Man.
“Apologize,” I said.
“Yes. I realized afterward that I was rude to you. This afternoon. In the hallway? Before tea?”
“Yeah?”
“Yes! I realized that it was rude and utterly immature of me to say all those dreadful things. About you being a servant, I mean. They would’ve been rude and immature, of course, even if you actually were a servant, which you’re not, thank goodness.” She cocked her head. “But in a way that makes it doubly rude and immature, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t worry about it, Cecily.”
She didn’t. “I came around earlier,” she said, “before dinner. To apologize. And to talk to someone. I was so upset about Grandpere. But you weren’t here and Mr. Houdini was hiding in the other room.” She put her hand to her mouth to hide a giggle. “I was awful, I’m afraid. I teased him terribly. I kept knocking on his door and I wouldn’t go away. But he was being so silly. Does he always get so frantic when there are women about?”
“He’s shy,” I said.
She lowered her head and tilted it slightly to the side and she eyed me obliquely from beneath her blond bangs. “It’s not because he thinks I’m a nymphomaniac?”
“No. Listen-”
“You’re certain?”
“Yeah. Cecily-”
“Because I’m not, you know.”
“Yeah. I-”
She took a breath. “Anyway, after that horrible seance, Mother went off with Daddy and it was obvious that no one cared in the least what happened to me. So I came around again and I waited. And I’ve been waiting for hours, all by myself, just sitting here, while you’ve been God knows where. And you haven’t even noticed that I’ve picked up after you.” She plucked invisible bits of something out of the air. “Pick, pick, pick. Like a pickaninny.” She giggled, then covered that over with a stem frown. “You left this place a terrible mess, you know. There were clothes and things scattered everywhere.”
She sounded like a tipsy young girl playing house, but that was pretty much what she was. She was working herself back into a pout, or maybe even another scowl.
“Thanks, Cecily. But-”
“Do you have something to drink here?” she asked me, looking around the room. “Whiskey or brandy or something?”
I had kept my bag locked since the first night here. Probably, if I hadn’t, she would’ve found the bottle of bourbon inside it.
“Only water,” I told her. “Sorry.”
She made a face. Then she glanced toward the Great Man’s door, turned back to me, and smiled. “Why don’t you come over here?” she said, and patted the bedspread.
“In a minute. But first, tell me something about your grandfather.”
Her brow furrowed. “My grandfather?”
“He fell from a horse, what was it, three years ago?”
She nodded. “From Rosebud, his mare.”
“He’s been paralyzed ever since?”
“Yes.” She tilted her head to the side. “But why do you want to know about my grandfather?”
“I’m curious. He broke his back?”
“Not his back. The nerves got all twisted. Or torn or something. Some sort of complicated medical thing. She waved a hand vaguely. The gesture reminded me of her father.
“Was there any chance he’d be walking again?
She shook her head. “The doctor said it was impossible. Dr. Christie.”
“He’s a specialist, Dr. Christie?”
“He’s the family doctor. Grandpere didn’t trust anyone else. Daddy and Mother wanted to bring in someone from London, but Grandpere refused.” She frowned. She said, “Do you think it just finally become too much for him? Not being able to walk? Trapped in that room all day?”
“Did he seem depressed?”
“No. Not at all, really.” Her brow furrowed again. “In fact, sometimes, you know, I thought he actually enjoyed it. Lying there, reading his books, having people waiting on him hand and foot.” She made a face. “I’d hate it. It would drive me utterly mad.”
“There’s a maid here named Darleen.”
“In the kitchen.” Her face clouded. “What about her?”
“Her name came up. I just wanted-”
She was frowning. “Do you like her?”
“I’ve never met her.”
“Why are you asking all these questions?”
“That’s my job.”
“You haven’t asked me any questions about me.”
“Okay,” I said. “Where were you this past afternoon?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yesterday afternoon, between twelve-thirty and one o’clock. Where were you?”
“Why?”
“I’m an investigator. I’m investigating.”
“But what is it you’re investigating?”
“The rifle shot that was fired this afternoon. Where were you when that happened?”
She looked at me blankly. “But what difference would that make?”
“Maybe you saw something. Or heard something. Something that could help me figure out who fired the shot.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea who fired the shot. I was in the village.”
“Where?”
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Does it really matter?”
“Yeah.”
She sighed heavily, to prove how bored she was. “I was at Connie’s house.”
“Who’s Connie?”
“She was my nanny. Ages ago.”
“You were there between twelve-thirty and one?”
“Yes, ” she said, leaning toward me. She sat back and smiled. “Now. That’s settled.” She patted the bedspread again. “Aren’t you coming over here?”
“Nope. Time for you to leave, Cecily.”
She stared at me. “Pardon me?”
“Time to go.”
She frowned. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“But I came to see you. I waited for hours. I apologized.”
“Yeah. I appreciate it. But you’ve got to go.”
“But I don’t want to leave.”
“Sorry, but that doesn’t matter.”
She shook her head. Once again she crossed her arms. “I won’t leave. You can’t force me.”
“So I’ll go. And find someone who can carry you back to your room. Your mother, maybe.”
She hardened her face. “I’ll scream. People will come. I’ll tell them you attacked me. You raped me.” She
